civilized human beings to live in. And we're getting the new
house ready. So--to us, election day is no more important than
any of the three hundred and sixty-five.''


It was into the presence of a Victor Dorn restored in mind as
well as in body that Jane Hastings was shown by his sister, Mrs.
Sherrill, one afternoon a week or so later.

All that time Jane had been searching for an excuse for going to
see him. She had haunted the roads and the woods where he and
Selma habitually walked. She had seen neither of them. When the
pretext for a call finally came to her, as usual, the most
obvious thing in the world. He must be suspecting her of having
betrayed his confidence and brought about the vacating of those
injunctions and the quashing of the indictments. She must go to
him and clear herself of suspicion.

She felt that the question of how she should dress for this
crucial interview, this attempt to establish some sort of
friendly relations with him, was of the very highest importance.
Should she wear something plain, something that would make her
look as nearly as might be like one of his own class? HIS class!

No --no, indeed. The class in which he was accidentally born and
bred, but to which he did not belong. Or, should she go dressed
frankly as of her own class-- wearing the sort of things that
made her look her finest and most superior and most beautiful?
Having nothing else to do, she spent several hours in trying
various toilets. She was not long in deciding against disguising